Was I bored? No, I wasn’t fuckin’ bored. I’m never bored. That’s the trouble with everybody – you’re all so bored. You’ve had nature explained to you and you’re bored with it, you’ve had the living body explained to you and you’re bored with it, you’ve had the universe explained to you and you’re bored with it, so now you want cheap thrills and, like, plenty of them, and it doesn’t matter how tawdry or vacuous they are as long as it’s new as long as it’s new as long as it flashes and fuckin’ bleeps in forty fuckin’ different colors. So whatever else you can say about me, I’m not fuckin’ bored.
Come on Alphonse. Go back to your room, re-read the script, learn your lines, then try to sleep. Tomorrow we work. That’s what matters. Don’t be a fool. You’re a very good actor. No one’s private life runs smoothly. That only happens in the movies. No traffic jams, no dead periods. Movies go along like trains in the night. And people like you and me are only happy in our work. I’m counting on you.
I was taught:
Our father who art in heaven.
I thought it said arts.
I imagined my father with an easel
painting in Paradise.
In eternity, where there is no time, nothing can grow.
Nothing can become. Nothing changes.
So death created time to grow the things that it would kill…
I’ve got a mechanism for seeing called eyes, for hearing called ears, and for speaking called a mouth. But they feel disconnected. They don’t work together. A person should feel like he’s one individual. I feel like I’m many different people.
Mirrors should reflect a bit more before sending back images.
The thing is, you only got to fuck up once. Be a little slow, be a little late, just once. And how you ain’t never gonna be slow, never be late? You can’t plan for no shit like this, man. It’s life.